


Don't Talk About It

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, Avoiding Certain Words, Because I can't write without it, Bottom Julian Bashir, But Sweeter, Cardassian Anatomy, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Or at least one in particular, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Elim Garak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: They were both thinking about it.But they didn't say it.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 25
Kudos: 157





	Don't Talk About It

He wasn’t thinking about it throughout their lunch or the accompanying debate over the merits of Efrosian political prose.

He wasn’t thinking about it when Chief O’Brien commed him, saying that engineering suddenly found themselves with an open afternoon and could run their trimonthly decontamination of the infirmary, so the doctor and his staff wouldn’t be able to return until tomorrow.

He wasn’t thinking about it when their discussion extended past lunch and they grew weary of the replimat, deciding to go for a stroll for a change of scenery. Or as they visited the arboretum, admiring flowers and sparring over who held the most knowledge of medicinal and toxic plants.

And he certainly wasn’t thinking about it when his stomach let loose a low gurgle in anticipation of the impending dinner time. Had it been that long already?

So it was with complete and utter stupefaction that he found himself in the crew section of the habitat ring, outside his quarters, staring at the entry pad as if it had grown fangs.

Garak looked just as stunned.

“Um, well, since we’re here, and it’s getting on in the day, shall we have dinner?” Julian gestured feebly at his door, suddenly feeling like a raft let loose from the shore of a fast-moving river.

He was thinking about it now.

“If the sounds erupting from your abdomen are any indication, then we had better partake of a meal _soon_ , or risk losing you to starvation.” Garak’s tone was teasing, but his eyes were guarded, more so than usual.

As they entered, Julian took in the clothing arrayed on the furniture, the padds and breakfast plate strewn on the dining table, the bottle of hair product that had somehow wound up on the couch. It wasn’t just for Garak’s cold-blooded ancestry that he dimmed the lights. “I, er, wasn’t expecting company. Sorry about the mess. Why don’t you sit down at the table here,” he swept off the items, “and I’ll call something up.” 

He walked over to the replicator, still trying not to think about it.

Garak hadn’t responded yet, so he turned around, ready to ask what his friend would like for dinner. The Cardassian was right there, in front of him. Close.

Garak was thinking about it.

His cornflower blue eyes had darkened to navy, the pupils twice as large as they had been at lunch. His mouth was open just slightly, tasting the room. Julian could feel the puffs against his lips. At the touch of dry air, his tongue automatically darted out to moisten them. Garak’s gaze jerked down to watch, then back up again.

“Garak,” Julian said hesitantly. “I want you to know… I’ve had a wonderful time today.” His own breath was coming faster, and he could feel his heart speeding up. More words spilled out. “I _always_ have a wonderful time with you. I can’t think of anyone else whose company I enjoy more.” And no, that isn’t what he wanted to say. There were too many “I” statements. His gaze jumped back and forth between each of Garak’s eyes, unsure which to focus on. “You…” You what? You captivate me? You thrill me? You challenge me in ways no one else can? “Oh stars, Garak, say something. I’m dying here.”

The Cardassian was unnaturally still. Not a muscle on his face twitched. “You’re the doctor, dear. What is it you believe yourself to be dying of?” He leaned forward infinitesimally, face turning so that they were almost cheek to cheek. His voice tickled Julian’s ear. “And why do you think I’m the one who can save you?”

The exhale that escaped Julian’s mouth ended in a low moan. He stepped in, pressing his chest to Garak’s, hands rising to grip his upper arms. His whole body was vibrating like a shuttle with a loose connection in the stabilizer core. The contact continued upward so that the side of his mouth met skin just in front of the ear canal, just above the auricular ridges. The tissue was cool and soft, but with a subtle texture, like expensive leather. He could smell the other man’s hair gel, something fresh and spicy at the same time, and inexplicably made him think of the color red. But that didn’t matter, because it was the first time he’d kissed Garak, and he was about to burst out of his skin if he stopped. 

He felt the cheek under his lip tense as Garak swallowed, and he wondered if that meant his mouth was watering, if he wanted to kiss Julian back. He brushed his lips against the skin again, then kissed firmly, tipping back centimeter by centimeter with each peck that brought him closer to a suspiciously speechless mouth. As he returned to having Garak’s face in front of him, he held his breath, afraid of what he’d see in the expression. 

It was impossible to tell, because Garak was already meeting his mouth with his own, and his eyes closed as their mouths didn’t so much as crash together but blend into one another like electromagnetic waves from opposing directions, creating something far greater than the sum of its parts. 

From his first days on the station, Julian had fantasized about this moment. It usually involved passion and aggression and shoving, pulling, tugging, growling. Nothing like… _this_. This wasn’t just mouths and hands licking and groping, just hormonal urges. This was something far deeper and stronger than he’d anticipated, and it made him dizzy.

As Garak’s hands settled on his waist, a surge of adrenaline rose in his chest and his lips parted, allowing the smooth gray tongue entrance, greeting it gleefully with his own rough pink one. They tapped against each other, testing, feeling, then caressing and bobbing in and out of each other’s mouths. He honestly wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, and the realization that he’d finally found a way to stall his internal clock filled him with elation. He squeezed the arm muscles in his grip before running them up and down in counterpoint to their kisses. His neck craned as he pushed forward, instinctively trying to get closer, which his brain told him was impossible unless he crawled _inside_ Garak, and ohhhh, what a thought that was.

A firm pressure on each side of his waist nudged him backward, but it wasn’t pushing him away, merely steering him across the room as they continued to taste each other as fully as possible. He’d never been much of a dancer, but he found himself being gracefully led step by step, thigh to thigh, never once stumbling or crushing a toe. And then he was spun a quarter turn and pulled down onto the couch. Onto the hard body reclining into the cushions.

He lifted his left leg and stretched it across the seat until he was leaning on his knee, straddling Garak’s waist. His hands had somehow ended up on the firm chest and he rubbed, dismayed to not be able to feel anything through the layers of fabric. The hands at his waist guided again, tugging him closer, fingertips digging into the flesh of his hips. He bent forward, but instead of returning to the kiss, he aimed for the shoulders and neck. He’d done his homework ages ago, and he knew where every erogenous zone lay, every cluster and bundle of nerves on the typical (and hopefully _this)_ Cardassian body. The long rope of tendon that stretched from neck to shoulder was covered in tough skin scalloped like scales, and was by far the most intriguing. And currently the most accessible. 

Close to the head, one and a half finger spans down, he clamped his mouth on the ridge. First, just suckling gently, getting a feel for the taste and texture, the toughness of the skin. There was a quiet “Hmm” that he wasn’t sure was pleased or frustrated, and that wasn’t acceptable, so he wrapped his lips around his teeth and bit down, harder this time. “Mmmm.” And now, just teeth. A sharp intake of breath that sounded like a hiss. Yes, that was good. He bit again, opening his mouth wider to gnaw with more than just his front teeth. Arms wrapped around his torso and squeezed him, forcing his breath out and coercing the growing pressure between his legs into an urgent throbbing. He nibbled down toward the shoulder, then back up, spurred on by the hands clenching and unclenching at his back. 

After a couple feather-light flutters back towards the cheek, he started to cool down. They held their faces together, both heaving deeply. 

“Are you still dying, doctor?”

Julian dropped his head onto the arm of the sofa, letting out a gusty sigh. “Yes.” 

Garak scooted to the side to turn his head and look. “You have yet to tell me what your affliction is.”

How could he? He wasn’t even sure where to start. He pulled away, sitting up. Frowning, Garak followed. 

“Do you remember after the incident with the implant? You told me everything was true, including the lies… _especially_ the lies. And this?” He pointed at the two of them. “Is this a lie? Or a truth? You and me?”

Garak had once been afraid of this exact situation. Being forced to speak plainly, to say things that he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to say. But after years of worrying over it, and then the opportunity never presenting itself, the edges had dulled and the words had eventually come on their own. And maybe they hadn’t been too late after all. “My dear doctor. Is speaking really the only way to tell the truth?”

At first, Julian was angry. Nearly livid, even. One more puzzle, one more misdirection, a refusal to answer outright. But part of him was already analyzing the question. Yet another part was drawing a connection to a common aphorism: actions speak louder than words. The thought struck a chord in him, one that rang true. Garak may talk circles around someone. He might argue a point that was completely the opposite of what he believed. He could twist a prayer into a curse with no more than a turn of phrase. But his intentions were always clear when one looked back and studied his actions. He did what he meant to do, and did it with direction and purpose. Once completed, there was never any doubt that he’d done _exactly_ what he’d set out to do.

Scenes flashed through Julian’s eidetic memory: flirty smiles, touches on the shoulders and back, little gifts. His favorite dish, waiting at the lunch table when he arrived late after an emergency in the infirmary. A suit that wasn’t just flattering but composed of a material that wouldn’t irritate his skin, even though he’d never outright mentioned that certain fabrics bothered him. A dozen actions, small and large, but none of them insignificant. And all of them laden with meaning.

But he didn’t mention it.

Instead, he looked up at the waiting visage self-consciously. Apologetically. Garak didn’t look upset. He just had a little smile. “I do believe there’s hope for you yet.”

Julian stood up, extending his hand. His heart skipped a beat when Garak met it and rose. They made their way to the bedroom, which--thankfully--was actually cleaner. Garak sat on the bed and Julian followed, still holding on and seating himself to face the other man. He drew the hand up to his mouth, laying kisses on the knuckles. 

“I may never be able to use language the way you do. Crafting stories and besting adversaries through verbal repartee.” He shook his head. “And I do so envy your ability to do that.” More kisses, a squeeze. “But let me show you how I feel. I can say so much more without words.”

Mouth dry, Garak nodded. He watched as the younger man took hold of his tunic and worked it open, let him draw it down his arms and drape it over the nightstand. Bit his lip when hot fingers brushed up his sides as they lifted his thermal undershirt up and off. He let Julian push him back onto the bed, helping him shuffle upward until his head rested on the pillow. Nimble surgeon’s fingers made quick work of the ties on his trousers before sliding them off. 

Lying naked and on his back while watching Julian remove his own clothes, Garak thought of space stations and wormholes. The enormous forces required to move a colossus of a structure across the void so that it could perch next to the gateway of another quadrant. What powers had manipulated time and space to bring Julian to _him_ , here, on this end of the galaxy, during this ignominious exile?

But surely that wasn’t even a fair comparison. If this young human were Terok Nor (or Deep Space Nine), then that would be casting himself in the role of the wormhole, and he was most definitely not worthy of such a description. Elim Garak was not a miracle of physics, not astronomically beautiful, and neither body nor soul would ever pass for a temple.

No, Julian was the wormhole and he the space station. Worn down, used up, left behind. A hodge podge of mismatched parts prone to malfunctioning. Yet drawn inexorably closer to this glowing artifact of the heavens, relocated and repurposed to guard and protect it. 

Clothes on the floor, eyes blazing, skin bronze and unblemished, the figure before him certainly was divine. 

As the deity in human form approached the bed, he said a prayer, surprised to hear it voiced aloud. “I have but one request, my dear, only one word that I desire to hear from your mouth. My name.”

“ _Elim_.”

“ _Julian_ , come here.” 

As if drawn by a string, the long limbs brought Julian to the bed. He climbed on, stretching out alongside the gray, semi-scaled body awaiting him. He felt the urge to trace each and every rise and ridge, but he was trapped by the sheer force of the gaze across from his. For the eternity of a second, they stared into each other’s souls, overwhelmed by the enormity of what was transpiring. It was there, lurking in the back corners of their minds, teasing their throats, yet never emerging. But its presence was keenly felt, knotting in their chests and spreading through their limbs.

Neither was sure who moved first, but before they realized anything had happened, their limbs were tangled and they were rolling on the small bed, tasting and biting and rubbing at newly-discovered skin. Julian worked his way to the top of the pile, reveling in the feel of alien and yet familiar protruberances indenting his body. As he leaned in, a faint moan escaped Elim’s mouth.

“Is--is everything alright? Are you okay?”

“You’re so _warm._ Doctor, I may never want to leave this bed as long as you remain in it.”

Charmed, he kissed the tip of the dusky nose. “Julian, not doctor, please. And you’re free to stay as long as you like.” He moved to the shoulder, rediscovering the bumps and dips with his teeth and tongue, only pausing to add, “Feel free to… take _advantage_ of my warmth as you see fit.”

A low growl was the only warning before rough hands seized his hips and flipped him onto his back. He was about to point out that he could perform substantially _less efficiently_ as a heating implement in this position when his lungs were compressed by the body above him, and his air puffed out into the mouth that was descending against his. His hips thrust upward on their own account, seeking stimulation against the firm rise between Elim’s legs. He writhed as the Cardassian mirrored his movement so that they were mutually lunging and receding in pleasure, sending sharp spikes through both of their groins. 

Elim buried his nose in Julian’s neck, breathing in salty with just a hint of sweet musk that was unique to his dear doctor. He sucked the skin into his mouth, delighting at the coppery taste in his mouth as blood rushed to the surface. When he drew back, a lovely purpling bruise was blooming where he’d focused his attention. He slid down, intent on adding a few more decorations. A little brown nub appeared, and he remembered from a late-night kanar-influenced bout of research that humans responded well to stimulation there. It looked like it was made for his particular form of conquest, and he eagerly licked it before pulling it between his lips. The surprised gasp from his partner had a very Cardassian-like hiss to it, spurring him to continue. His teeth were next, nibbling the tip. Julian’s feet kicked as he emitted a sound that sounded suspiciously like a squeak.

Julian decided that there had to be some nerve that connected his nipples directly to his cock; there was no way that signal could have traveled so quickly--and so delightfully sharply--from Elim’s mouth to his nethers. He wrapped his legs around the thick waist in an attempt to create more friction along his erection. As a central ridge on the other man’s abdomen stroked up the length, the pleasurable tingle deepened and headed further south and back.

Julian gasped, then gritted his teeth as the other man moved to the other side to repeat his ministrations on a new victim. Finally, he worked up enough nerve to speak. “Elim…” Another gasp. “I--I’m even warmer… on the inside.”

The hands that had been gripping his arms just below the shoulders tightened convulsively, causing claw-like nails to dig into the flesh as Elim’s head lifted, expression turning from stunned to heated. 

Julian had known academically that Cardassians kept their more private organs tucked away, but it was quite the sensual experience to actually feel the mound between his legs quiver and pulse as the alien pr’Ut emerged, brushing the underside of his sack, then tickling the perineum. They both moaned.

“At the risk of sounding like one of your dreadful Terran novels, we’re approaching the point of no return, dear.” He paused, nervously brushing the skin under his hands. “Tell me now if you wish to go no farther.”

Julian reached for one of Elim’s hands, pulling it back to his mouth, once again laying kisses along the knuckles. In stark contrast to the tender motion, his voice was rough and strained. “If you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I _will_ die.” His eyes smouldered, but his lips loosed a quirky grin. “You don’t want that on your conscience, now do you? Or maybe… you’d prefer me to shag _you_?”

“Oh… oh my dear.” Endless possibilities blossomed in Elim’s head, each more intriguing than the next. “You will. Next time. Or the next. Tonight, though,” he flexed his hips, causing Julian’s grip to tighten, “it’d be a shame to stop _this.”_

“ _Yes_. Yes, please.”

Elim used his free hand to reach under the human’s body, caressing a plump but firm cheek before reaching into the cleft and deftly exploring what lay there. It was… smaller and tighter than he’d been anticipating. But when he brushed the tip of his index finger over the pucker, the “Hssst” of a sucked in breath was the only reaction he needed to continue. He traced the opening, noting how dry it was. “Do you happen to be in possession of a substance that could… help us to move forward?”

Julian bit his lip. “I do, in the nightstand. But, ah… I thought that Cardassians… you, know.”

“No, I’m not sure that I do. Could you explain it to me? Or perhaps… show me?”

Reluctantly, Julian let go of Elim’s hand to push himself into a sitting position, forcing the other man to settle back on folded legs. He inched forward so that his own legs were spread out, encircling the seated figure. He couldn’t believe that he was here--that _they_ were here, now, naked on his bed. Cautiously, he reached down, between Elim’s legs. “Well, according to Cardassian literature, the _medical_ kind, the ajan is self-lubricating.” He reached under the pr’Ut and traced a stripe down the edge of the seam below it, catching a glimpse of Elim’s face as his eyes squeezed shut. He continued watching as he dipped his finger inside, drawing a string of viscous fluid back out. He rubbed the substance between his thumb and forefinger. “It should be adequate for our activities.”

“I should hope so, my dear. That _is_ what it’s for.”

They paused again, debating what to do next. Should Julian climb into his lap? Should they lay back down? 

Opening his eyes again, the human before him looked so delightfully concerned and vulnerable that Elim took pity. With both hands, he cupped the tawny chin that was just beginning to show signs of stubble. “My lovely doctor, my Julian.” The hazel eyes fluttered closed as their faces drew together, dry gray lips meeting smooth pink ones. He gave a gentle push, knocking Julian off balance, and causing him to fall back on his hands. But to Elim’s surprise, one of the hands slapped blindly at the bed, dragging a pillow up behind him. Julian pushed back at him, causing Elim to scoot towards the end of the bed. That could work.

Mouths still locked, he slipped his feet off the bed and onto the floor as Julian slid closer, legs still spread around him. With a little maneuvering, the younger man was lying down at the edge of the bed, legs dangling off, a pillow wedged under his rear and Elim bent over him. Looking straight into the glazed blue eyes, Julian lifted his legs up against his chest, opening himself up for the taking. 

Elim held his gaze as he inserted his fingers into his ajan to slick them up, then gently began to slide one into the twitching entrance. Julian moaned at the twinges of pleasure that shot out from that point. But it wasn’t enough. “More,” he panted, and for once, he wasn’t questioned. A second finger joined the first, and now he could feel the rubbing not just at the outer ring but _inside_ , and the yearning in his loins for it to move deeper was almost painful. 

Elim couldn’t believe how tight the muscles were that clamped and then released around his digits. Would this be able to fit him? And if it did, how long would he be able to last? He added a third finger, now pushing in and pulling out, mimicking the motion that his pr’Ut was craving.“Let me know when you’re ready,” he murmured.

“ _Now,_ ” came the reply. Julian wanted to feel their bodies together, joined, even though it’d been a while since he’d done this with anyone but himself. Because, if he was terribly honest, since arriving on Deep Space Nine… there had only ever been Garak. From the first, exhilarating and beguiling him, fascinating and even frightening him. But then provoking and encouraging him, inspiring his creativity and stretching his mind. He could trade banter with Jadzia, play in the holosuites with Miles. He could shag like a rabbit with women like Leeta. But _no one_ filled him with a fire--mentally, emotionally, or physically--like the man above him at this very moment. This man who was getting ready to fan the flames, by the look of it.

Elim made sure his pr’Ut was properly lubricated before positioning it where his fingers had just been. The tip, which was noticeably more tapered than a human’s, entered easily. He pressed forward, inward, meeting little resistance.

For his part, Julian watched the play of expressions on the Cardassian’s face, from hesitancy, to nervousness, to pleasure, and then almost pain as his eyes closed and he tried to steady himself. Being athletic and in excellent control of his body, Julian just lay back and relaxed his lower abdominal muscles, allowing the rapidly thickening organ entering him to slide the rest of the way in and fill him up.

As he bottomed out, Elim stilled, eyes opening in wonder. Julian met his gaze, hazel eyes similarly gaping in awe at the intimacy of the moment.

They were both thinking about it now.

It was wrapped around their lungs, clinging to their vocal cords, if only their jaws and tongues would cooperate.

But when words failed, Julian could lead by example, and speak with action. He took the hands holding his hips into his own, threading their fingers and pulling them up towards his shoulders. Elim was drawn down against him, resting on his forearms, with his chest supported by Julian’s legs. Julian lifted his face to the bowed head, laying a kiss in the center of the forehead, in the inverted teardrop over the eyebrows, before kissing the ridged nose and finally the mouth. They opened to one another greedily, lost for a moment in the connection.

But their bodies made other desires known, and Julian leaned back again. Elim chased him down, surging his body _up_ , and deeper into the tight heat. They both moaned. He decided to repeat the movement, slowly, and for a time they just held hands as he thrust and withdrew, rocking gently.

Julian watched the body writhing above him, enraptured. He’d never seen Elim’s face so focused and yet so… open. Serene. He’d never imagined what it would take to ease the spy’s anxiety, to erase the doubts and suspicions and paranoia, and just live in the moment. And now that he knew, he never wanted it to end. He opened his legs wider to draw the man closer, letting their hands part to wrap his arms around the back in a tight hug.

The effect was rather different than what he’d intended. As Elim bore down on him, the ridges above the ajan scraped along his erection, sending a jolt through his groin. He cried out.

Spurred on by the enthusiastic reception, Elim dug his feet into the carpet, glad for once to have claws on his toes. He pushed off, aiming the thrust more upward, and was rewarded with Julian arching off the bed before dropping back. He’d seen something similar in the holovids he’d pilfered, but wasn’t sure of the cause. His curiosity got the best of him. “Just what was that, dear Julian? You looked exquisite.” He lunged again, feeling his member brush against a soft lump.

“Ah--agh!” the human cried out. “It’s--oh, ah--it’s called the prostate. It’s one of the most sensitive parts on a human male’s body. But--agh--don’t keep that up or I won’t be able to last very long. It’s--ooh--too good.”

Whyever would he want to stop? He’d dreamed of seeing the doctor like this for so long, never once believing the devastating young man would ever actually end up in his arms. And now that he was… Sapphire eyes met olive. “ _Mine,”_ he purred. He dug his hands under Julian’s back, curling them around the shoulders from underneath in a tight lock before plunging into the body beneath him in earnest.

Julian saw the moment Elim’s expression went from fervent to feral, and a frisson of exhilaration shot through him. Yes, this was what he wanted. He dug his fingers into the scaly back and wrapped his legs around the other man’s waist, canting his hips to take him as deep as possible. Not only was his cock being rubbed roughly between them, but the ridges at the base of the pr’Ut pounding into him were twisting and tickling at his hole as his prostate was prodded over and over. His vision started to go black around the edges.

Elim’s senses were overloaded by the musky sweat pouring out of the human in his arms, by the hot velvet that clenched his pr’Ut upon each downward stroke, by the whining gasps singing from Julian’s throat, growing higher and louder. The hellhole of Terok Nor had never felt more like heaven. “No no no no no,” Julian was whimpering, but before he could panic, the litany changed. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh right there…” Elim buried his face in the golden brown neck, pumping even harder and faster, more than he’d known himself to be capable of. And just when he thought it couldn’t be any more perfect, Julian turned to face him. “You’re… oh, thinking too hard. Agh! Come for me, Elim. Bite me, you know you want to. Oh, ah--ah. Mark me. Take me.”

He blindly obeyed, clamping down on the tender skin just above the shoulder, pressing his tongue to the salty surface for a taste as his teeth punched through and a wave of thunder rolled through him as he erupted into his lover’s body. Julian rose against him and squeezed his gluteal muscles mercilessly, caught in his own shattering peak.

They remained that way for a few moments, locked together in ecstasy, before Elim slumped, resting his head on Julian’s chest. But that didn’t last long either. “I fear my legs can’t hold on like this,” he mumbled.

Julian let him withdraw and then scrambled back up the bed, taking his hand to pull him up alongside. He collapsed on his back, so Julian stretched out on his side to fit them both on the mattress without either being too near the edge. To his chagrin, the human pulled his arm away from his body so that it would cradle the thin shoulders, tucking himself into Elim’s side, placing his head on a pectoral and wrapping his arm around the slightly padded waist. It seemed a very human gesture. And a very Julian one.

He could get used to it.

The silence, though, was short-lived.

“I have to admit: I always thought our first time would start out with you shoving me up against a bulkhead while calling me a feeble-minded slave of Federation dogma. Or maybe during a fitting in your shop, with you complaining about how I’m in possession of _irredeemably_ irritating optimism.”

Elim rolled his eyes. “How terribly unprofessional of me as a tailor. But seeing as your philosophies and disposition are indeed in serious need of examination and--dare I say--guidance, the first can still be arranged.”

“Shoving me up against a bulkhead?” Julian grinned lasciviously, even though it couldn’t be seen. “Public or private?”

“My, an exhibitionist, are we? How about a public one, but in private? Somewhere out of the way.”

“That would actually be preferable. I think we could work something out. I’m sure you know… locations around the station that are not... monitored or regularly visited.”

“Are you still implying that I’m a spy? I thought you’d grown out of that.”

Julian got up on an elbow and peered sternly down into the faux-innocent face. “Well, I don’t want guidance in your _tailoring_ skills. You’ve already chalked me up as a lost cause there. And our lunches cover everything from politics to poetry. So tell me,” he rubbed Elim’s arm suggestively, “ _what else_ is there for you to teach me?”

He had no right to look so innocent and so naughty at the same time. But oh, the possibilities. Wasn’t this one of the reasons he’d become so attached to the young doctor? The open-mindedness, the intelligence and creativity, the _willingness_ . It was intoxicating. “I may be able to… educate you… in other things. In no way am I saying that I am a spy. But I may have picked up a little… _spycraft_ here and there over the years. If you so desire--”

“Oh, yes, I _desire.”_ The human’s eyes were blazing with implication. 

“My dear,” Elim said a little breathlessly. “I fear I don’t have the energy to begin your education right this very moment.”

Julian chuckled, bending to touch his forehead to Elim’s. “That’s quite alright.” He peeked back up. “Tomorrow morning?”

“Hmmm. We’ll see.”

Julian curled back into position at his side. He shuffled a little, readjusting. His free hand wandered, dabbing at a ridge on his arm, then tracing scales on his abdomen.

“Is there something else on your mind, doctor?”

“Hmmph. It’s funny you should call me that. I was just thinking that I want to learn the terms for all these little parts. Our medical database is woefully inadequate for Cardassians.”

“Perhaps another day we can have an anatomy lesson. You can teach me yours, too.”

“That sounds lovely.” His hand continued its exploration, wandering over collarbones and chest plates. But he still seemed agitated. Something else was on his mind. He let out a long sigh. “Elim… I think that… I mean, after tonight… I really--” he was cut off by fingers placed over his mouth.

“No, don’t say it. Not yet. Not tonight.”

It could wait. 

There would be another time, another chance. Hopefully many more. 

Julian smiled. “I was just going to ask if you wanted an extra blanket.”

**Author's Note:**

> For now, I'm leaving this as a stand-alone. I have too many other WIPs.  
> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!  
> Cardassian anatomy terms provided by tinsnip's "Speculative Cardassian Reproductive Xenobiology."  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719479


End file.
